


Serpent Woman

by sujing



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Curse, F/M, Horcrux Creation, Horcruxes, Loosely based on canon (esp. COG), Maledictus, Memory Loss, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, Parseltongue, Past Tense, Souls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 18:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18393953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sujing/pseuds/sujing
Summary: She faded, gradually, until she was left with nothing but serpentine instinct and a loyalty deeper than memory or soul.He was her saviour, after all.---In which Voldemort finds Nagini in the forests of Albania during the winter of 1993–1994, when she is in the last throes of losing her humanity entirely.





	Serpent Woman

**Author's Note:**

> I think the Maledictus idea is pretty cool (ง •̀_•́)ง  
> (actually, I haven't watched the second Fantastic Beasts film hhhhh)  
> (very very loosely based on the idea)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> — sujing
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction that uses characters from and the world of Harry Potter, owned by J.K. Rowling.

Nagini did not know how long she wandered the forests of Albania, desolate and hopeless, abandoned so many unfamiliar borders and seas away from home.

She had been part of a troupe once, ages ago, as an exhibition based on jeering audiences’ ridicule of her malediction. They’d enjoyed pitying her and reassuring themselves that their lives were more fortunate and that they would never suffer as she was cursed.

They’d called her the ‘Serpent Woman’, or, ‘Nagini’. She did not know her true name, only that she had been bought at a young age through a trader from the dreamily distant continent of Asia.

They hadn’t treated her well, her owners, but though the conditions had been poor, she had survived. To her, who had never known her parents or any other place to call home, the company had been where she belonged and was needed.

She’d formed friendships with the other performers. With those that were more freakish than her and with those who were truly talented. Some had been as close to her as family, having grown up with them.

But, as her ailment had progressed, she had been able to hold her human form for shorter and shorter periods of time. Soon, she’d become unable to transform at will any longer, and became useless. A failed stunt.

Eventually, she hadn’t been worth the money it cost them to take care of her. After all, among the others, a large snake had been nothing. If one wanted to see a snake, all they had to do was go to a zoo or any specialised pet store.

It’d been during a tour across Europe that brought them through the forests of Albania that she’d been abandoned.

‘Sorry,’ the owners had said, ‘but we can’t feed you anymore. It’s just business, you understand.’

Then they had left her.

They must have expected that she could feed herself, as a snake, and catch her own prey. But, the truth was, she’d been a snake-woman long kept in captivity, and she hadn’t been comfortable with her body, save for within the confines of a cage.

The first week alone, lost in an unknown forest, she hadn’t managed to catch a single mouse or rabbit. Instead, she’d gathered what fruits and greens she could, and waited for her brief transformations back into her human form to occur. Only then had she eaten, scarfing down whatever she had hungrily, not wanting to transform back before she was done.

She had learned, with time, how to slither quietly among the grasses, and how to sense a beating heart from a distance. She had also learned how deadly her bite was and the viciousness of her venom.

Years had passed without her notice, and the gaps between her human transformations widened from days to weeks to months. She had grown to fell greater and greater prey, deer and predators alike. No longer did she rely on human sustenance.

She survived, but she was lonely. She was no true snake, but neither could she call herself human. With the passing of time came the shedding of her past identity, and as her humanity waned, so too did her memories fade.

Language melted away to images and impressions, increasingly dominated by her serpentine senses and instinct.

It progressed to the point that her memories as a woman felt like a daydream, akin to a chick dreaming of one day transforming into a phoenix.

* * *

The pain had been unbearable, and so Voldemort, weakened, fled to the east again.

Quirinus Quirrell had come as a blessing, a chance, fate’s reward for his long decade of survival. He had been weak and simple-minded, but proud, and all too easy to whisper promises of power and greatness to. The Philosopher’s Stone had been poised for the taking, and with it, his resurrection and return to humanity. But, in the end, it had all failed at the hands of eleven year-old Harry Potter.

He felt cursed. How much time would pass before he got another chance? Would he have to endure a year? Another decade? Longer?

He passed between possessions with a maddening frequency, leaving a trail of animals dead in his wake. But they were not enough for him. Not anymore. The first ten years had been difficult, but this second exile was so many times worse, now that he had obtained but a brief taste of victory before it had been snatched away so abruptly.

He wanted to surrender and give it all up. He wanted to let go and drift along the winds. Already, he was little more than mere mist and vapour, the remaining vestiges of a spirit or soul.

He began to doubt, though he would never admit it. Why was it that no one looked for him? Why was it that none of his loyal servants sought him out to return him to his former power? Did they not worship him? Had they not promised to serve him eternally? Had they abandoned him?

It seemed to him that the world had forgotten.

He had seen, in his few waking moments at Hogwarts with Quirrell, one of his Marked followers. Severus Snape, who was none other than Potions Master and professor under Dumbledore! Again and again, he obstructed his master, confronting Quirrell and contributing to the Stone’s protections. It did not matter in the end, no, but it forced Voldemort to wonder—had Severus betrayed him? Or did he simply not know?

He understood, of course, that Severus was wily and self-preserving. Given the chance, he would certainly seek Dumbledore’s protection rather than allow himself imprisonment in Azkaban. No, it was much better to be free, but watched. The Dementors would have damaged him and reduced his worth and brilliance.

Bellatrix was almost foolishly devoted in that regard. He had heard what she, who had always adored him, had done after his disappearance, along with her husband, his brother, and Bartemius, landing them in Azkaban with no chance of release.

They were his most loyal, and yet they were unable to continue their search and aid him.

He would return to them, he promised, and he would free them and reward them greatly for their unswaying allegiance. The others, the ones who fled and renounced his name, would be severely punished instead. Then they might be allowed to swear fealty to him again, if they behaved accordingly.

But then, Voldemort was far from Britain, far from Severus and the others, and he did not know how much longer he would remain away.

It was a cold day in winter that he chanced upon her.

* * *

Nagini stirred from her coiled slumber. Overhead, the leaves had fallen with the arrival of first snow. Soon, she would have to seek shelter, some place to spend the winter in hibernation.

She had gorged herself upon many carcasses, and her belly was full and warm.

Something was prodding at the edges of her mind. It itched, and Nagini swatted at her head with the end of her tail, but nothing was there. It continued to itch, and she hissed angrily.

‘ _What is there? I will tear you limb from limb for disturbing my sleep!_ ’ she hissed.

The itching stopped. She raised her head to look around, but there was nothing but endless trees and snow. She laid her head down again.

‘ _Who are you? You aren’t just any snake,_ ’ a male voice whispered, causing her to start. Was it another snake? She tried to pinpoint his location, but could not. It was as if the voice had come from within her head.

Still keeping an eye on her surroundings, she replied. ‘ _I asked you first, rude interloper._ ’ There was a pause. Then she felt something like cold laughter in her mind.

‘ _I am Lord Voldemort,_ ’ the voice declared proudly, ‘ _known as the Dark Lord and a speaker of the serpent tongue._ ’

Nagini flicked her tongue. The Dark Lord… she faintly recalled talk of a Dark Lord on her travels. A German who advocated for the triumph of wizards over Muggles. But it had not concerned her much then, and it hardly did now.

‘ _You are a human?_ ’ she asked curiously. ‘ _Why can’t I see you?_ ’

‘ _I have, by unfortunate circumstance, lost my physical form_ ,’ he answered. ‘ _I would seek your assistance, if you will grant it to me._ ’

Nagini turned her head in confusion. Was he a ghost? ‘ _I do not know how I can help, but I can try. In return, provide me food and shelter for the winter. Around this time, we snakes usually return to the ground to sleep. And…_ ’ she searched her mind for her name from back when she was with the troupe, ‘ _you may call me Nagini. It is what I have always been known as to humans._ ’

‘ _Are you not human yourself?_ ’

‘ _I have long since lost what humanity remained in me, Voldemort_ ,’ she answered vaguely. She felt a prickle of annoyance against her mind. ‘ _How are you communicating with me if you do not have a body?_ ’

‘ _There are ways_ ,’ he said tersely. ‘ _Magic can accomplish a great many things. I may be weakened, but I can keep you warm, Nagini. I only ask for your cooperation and passage within you while I recuperate._ ’

She felt a hint of suspicion rise up inside her, but she was also intrigued. Magic… it had been so long. All the years she spent in the forests as a snake, she had not encountered a single witch or wizard, much less one that could understand her. There was the occasional Muggle forager or hunter, but those only made for a tasty meal. She didn’t know if that was her good luck or her misfortune, but now that she met someone who possessed magic, she wouldn’t easily let them go.

‘ _Within me?_ ’ she asked. ‘ _How will that help you?_ ’

‘ _I will possess you, and we will share our minds and body. I will lend you my magic to keep you safe, and while I am possessing you, I will be able to grow stronger_ ,’ he explained.

She was not entirely foolish and unworldly, though her upbringing was removed from that of a normal witch, with no formal magical education. She knew what possession was, or could entail. Possession meant giving up one’s autonomy to another, willingly or unwillingly allowing the invasion of one’s mind and being by an outside force. How could she trust him, this stranger and Dark Lord?

‘ _I am no fool, Voldemort. You speak of sharing, but you would wrest control from me. I can survive the winter without aiding you. Why should I help you at my own risk for a touch of magic?_ ’

‘ _When I am recovered and have regained my body, I would reward you. I can grant you a good home and companionship_ ,’ he offered. ‘ _Are you not lonely here, Nagini? I know I am, in these dense forests with not a soul around but prey. We could keep each other from the pains of isolation._ ’

She considered his words. He was right about her, and his offer was greatly tempting. She had plenty of prey here, but she also deeply desired something more. The days were monotonous to her, and living was rote with barely any meaning. Though it had been many years, she still felt the pain of abandonment. She found that she wanted human company, this Voldemort’s.

‘ _You would not abandon me?_ ’ she asked. ‘ _You would swear on your magic?_ ’

She had heard somewhere, long ago, that wizards considered swearing on their magic to be most sacred and that few would knowingly fail to uphold that honour. She hoped this wizard believed the same.

‘ _I would_ ,’ he answered simply.

‘ _Then I will allow you passage, Voldemort._ ’

* * *

The days passed, and the two conversed while Voldemort kept them warm.

Nagini was different from the other animals he had possessed in the past. She was stronger, and had a human soul, allowing her to remain unharmed by his possession, so she did not die.

Initially, he’d thought her to be like any other snake, but upon trying to enter her mind, he had felt the magic within her resisting him, as well as her soul. Instead of forcing his way in and damaging her in the process, he’d seen the opportunity to gain a more permanent host, and so, struck up a conversation when she hissed at him in irritation.

Nagini, who turned out to be even older than he was, relayed tales of days gone past, while Voldemort told her about the many decades of wizarding history she had missed.

She hissed in amusement, to his great annoyance, when he reached the part about the prophecy.

‘ _How silly_ ,’ she proclaimed, ‘ _to be defeated by a mere babe!_ ’

‘ _How could you have done any better? You are but a snake now_ ,’ he retorted, but she only laughed harder.

‘ _I would have swallowed the child whole_ ,’ she declared, ‘ _and there would have been no spell to rebound. When you bring us to Britain, Voldemort, I will eat him for you as a precaution._ ’

‘ _You prideful serpent_ ,’ he said, but fondly.

She also explained to him the curse she bore, and how she had once been a girl, then a woman, but had finally succumbed to her serpent form, her moments as a human now few and far between.

They passed the winter peacefully like that, and for a while, Voldemort almost forgot all his worries.

* * *

It was early spring when Nagini transformed. They had been sleeping, curled up high in the boughs of a tree. She was larger as a snake than as a human, but it was unexpected, and they fell from the tree with a surprised gasp (“Oh!”).

The last time she had been human was many moons ago, and Nagini confessed that she barely remembered it.

“I feel like two completely different people sometimes, Voldemort,” she confided as she sunned herself languidly in a clearing. “When I first got here, I spent most of my time as a snake, but my transformations still happened every other day or so. Now, as a snake, I think like a snake and act like a snake. I meant it when I said I wasn’t human anymore.”

“I am concerned I may be having the same problems,” Voldemort admitted, examining a hand. It was small, clearly a woman’s, and very unlike his own. It was also heavily calloused.

She propped herself up on her elbows. “Nah, you’re resilient,” she said confidently. “You’ll get your body back, and you’ll be fine. Unlike me,” she added wistfully. “To tell you the truth, I’m scared. My transformations will stop one day, and by then, I don’t think I’ll remember being human. I’ll just be like any other snake.” She grabbed a handful of grass from the ground and tossed it up in the air, and the pieces fluttered down to land on her chest and belly. “You really won’t abandon me if that happens?”

Voldemort felt a pang at the thought of losing her, whom he’d grown accustomed to having around over the past months. Because of their sharing of minds and body, they knew each other intimately, and the idea of them separated was almost unbearable.

She was unlike any of his followers. Not those who obeyed him in search of power, nor those who served him in blind, fervent devotion. She, instead, asked only the small price of warmth and conversation for her loyalty.

It was something he hadn’t realised he wanted.

“No, Nagini. Never,” he promised. “I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Touching,” she remarked. “Well, if anyone could find a cure, it would be you,” she said, smiling warmly.

They went to sleep that night as a human, but when the morning sun rose, they were back to being a snake.

To Voldemort’s horror, he discovered that her soul, which he now realised had already been strangely small when they had first met (it only seemed normal to him in comparison to his own), had dwindled considerably overnight. Now, it seemed, only a wisp remained.

‘ _Nagini_ ,’ he called, voice filled with worry, ‘ _Nagini!_ ’

‘ _... What?_ ’ she said sleepily. ‘ _Woke me up…_ ’

‘ _Your soul, it—it_ shrunk,’ he said, bewildered.

He had never seen anything like it. The closest thing had been the Greengrass family’s blood curse, but that had a completely different effect, being solely a physical malady with no effect on the soul.

On that matter, what _did_ it mean if her soul gradually became nothing? Would Nagini, the human, have died and passed on? Or would she be trapped, somehow, her soul broken to pieces forever? What _would_ be left behind, but a shell of her with no trace of the woman she had been?

‘ _I feel fine_ .’ She stretched her body. ‘ _What are you so worked up about?_ ’

‘ _Don’t you remember what you told me yesterday?_ ’

She paused, in thought. ‘ _Not really. We hunted a wolf, right?_ ’

That was two days ago.

She didn’t remember. She had forgotten being scared, confiding in him, and his promise to her. But he wouldn’t forget. He would remember for her.

He wouldn’t tell her now, because it would only upset and worry her.

‘ _... Right._ ’

She looked confused. ‘ _Well, okay_ ,’ she said with a shrug of her tail. ‘ _I’m awake now. What do you want to do today?_ ’

* * *

It wasn’t until later that year in June that Voldemort saw a chance at saving Nagini.

Wormtail, the rat, had returned to him with a Ministry witch in tow. With his help, a rudimentary body was formed for him with the aid of a potion.

Nagini had wrinkled her nostrils at its smell, but after being told it would be a necessary step to his resurrection, she agreed to drink it.

It was strange to be separated after so long. In his new body, he could use his wand, which Wormtail had returned to him, but it was frail, and he had less freedom than he did with Nagini. They still talked, of course, using Parseltongue, and she still hunted for them, though he could no longer consume the game she caught.

Instead, he had Wormtail milk Nagini for her venom, which she grudgingly allowed.

‘ _Careful, rat,_ ’ she hissed in annoyance, even though she knew Wormtail could not understand. Despite that, it was clear enough that she was not pleased, and to her delight, he flinched back readily enough.

Voldemort ran it over and over again in his mind, the issue of Nagini’s soul. He had plenty of time every day to think, but few precious resources. Soul magic had always been considered taboo, and though he was something of an expert, having created multiple Horcruxes, he hardly knew everything there was to know.

There was also a deadline looming in the distance. How far away, he could not be sure, for Nagini had not kept careful records of when her transformations had occurred in the past. He grew exceedingly convinced that, based on the perilous condition of her soul, her next transformation would be her last, and she, the human, would be lost to him forever.

Asking her to create a Horcrux was impossible, he knew, because she would not survive splitting her soul. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t know how a Horcrux would interact with her curse. It might not stop the dwindling at all.

When Bertha Jorkins’s mind was irreparably damaged by a Memory Charm, inspiration struck.

Voldemort recalled how he had once planned to create his sixth and final Horcrux with the death of infant Harry Potter. He possessed only five now, the Ring, the Diary, the Cup, the Locket, and the Diadem, all items with great significance to him.

Though he was still weak in his current form, he could manage the ritual’s requirements with Wormtail’s assistance. It would be highly experimental, but with what could be only a couple months remaining for Nagini, he was willing to take the risks for her and himself.

He hoped to grant her a portion of his own soul, and in doing so, strengthen what she had left, tying her to her humanity, and possibly even restore what she had already lost.

‘ _I don’t understand,_ ’ she said when he tried to explain the theory to her, ‘ _but I trust you to take care of me, Voldemort. I will help._ ’

So he killed Bertha Jorkins, despite Wormtail’s protests that she could be returned to the Ministry with none the wiser. And with her death, he split his soul for the last time. The pain was as agonising as he remembered, and he felt as if he would be blasted away and back into a drifting, barren wraith once more, but he survived.

His dear Nagini received the seventh portion of his soul and his heart that night.

In order to facilitate the transfer, he had rendered her unconscious for the procedure, and she would remain asleep until dawn.

When the sun rose and she stirred awake again, he was waiting for her, lying by her coiled body.

‘ _Nagini_ ,’ he said in relief, for he did not know what might happen. She appeared, physically, as healthy as before, and just as grumpy in the morning.

She raised her head slowly towards him and nudged him gently. ‘ _What…_ ’ she mumbled, before laying her head back on the floor to continue sleeping.

‘ _Wake up, sleepyhead,_ ’ he said, reaching his small, feeble hand to pat the top of her head.

She turned to fix him with her startlingly yellow eyes head-on and paused, as if observing him.

‘ _Who are you?_ ’ she hissed with a puzzled expression.

His heart sank.

‘ _Nagini, please don’t play around_ ,’ he tried, but she only looked at him blankly with no hint of recognition.

‘ _Who is Nagini?_ ’ she asked again, in obvious disorientation.

… It didn’t work. He had failed. He, who out of all witches and wizards, should have been able to find a solution, had failed her. And he had made her worse, accelerating her condition to the extent that she could not remember her own name.

He searched her for her soul, praying that somehow, somewhere, there would be even the smallest sliver of hope remaining for them, but there was none to be found. He faced his own reflection, his own piece of soul glowing with bright success, but it appeared to him as if he had burned her out himself.

Lying before him was just an ordinary, if a bit impressively large, snake.

Nagini was dead. And he had killed her.

‘ _You are Nagini,_ ’ he said brokenly. ‘ _Nagini is your name. You are mine, my Serpent Woman, and I will never abandon you._ ’

‘ _... Okay._ ’

**Author's Note:**

> Years later, Nagini will be beheaded by the Sword of Gryffindor, and Voldemort will scream in fury as she is taken from him again.


End file.
